Destination: Struggle Town. Population: Me

                                                                   Source: loveyourchaos.tumblr.com via TissueClouds on Pinterest

When you find yourself 7 months pregnant and staring at the next 7 painfully empty days without your partner around to keep you company or fill the lonely nights with love, I wonder, what's a hormonally unstable pregnant lady to do?

I could sigh no less than 10 times a minute…
Curl up in a ball hugging my big belly and cry…
Mindlessly eat half a carton of choc/caramel ice cream till I feel sick…
Surf the internet/TV channels waiting for something interesting to jump out and entertain me enough to take my mind off him long enough not to sigh again in this same sentence…
Send him multiple texts bordering on the psychotic…
and when all that is said and done I could start the cycle again.
Le sigh, siigh, siiiighhhh…

But when you've had enough of sighing till you hyperventilate you could do what I've done and write up an incredibly lame list of things to do to pass the time while he's gone.
Ahem… here goes:

1. Spend over an hour on Pinterest pinning useless images & links like your life and the lives of those who follow you depends on it.

2. Fill your day with as much work as possible.
No I don't need to finish early today.
Sure, a 13 hour shift is totally appropriate for a woman in my condition.
Please stay and have another treatment. Nooo don't leave me… 

3. Catch up on reading your pregnancy guides. 
Go back over the early months and reminisce if you must.

4. Scan Facebook for updates every 10 minutes & stalk the about page of your entire friends list.
You'll be amazed at the banality or downright stupidity of what some people will write about themselves.

5. Watch all the crappy/ trashy TV that your heart desires guiltlessly.

6. Make half hearted meals for one.
Spaghetti ala Heinz tomato sauce anyone?
How about cheese and crackers? Tuna straight from the can is always a winner.

7. Catch up on blogging ;)

8. Write a really shit post about your inability to have a life outside of your husband.

9. Upload and categorise your holiday photos and finally write some posts about the times you weren't so lame and had said life you now lack.

10. Think of people to visit so as not to be home alone more than you need to be.

11. Take naps.

12. Go out and buy the box set of season one of Once Upon A Time and catch up on all the episodes your hubby wouldn't let you watch in peace while it was free to air.

13. Stay up really late until you're tired enough to go to bed without him by your side.

14. When you wake in the middle of the night to pee/stretch your back/stretch your hips or reheat your wheat pack, read a book with the lamp on to help you fall asleep again rather than trying to strategically toss and turn with your numerous pillows in the dark, all the while, trying not to wake your significant other or push him out of the bed or smother his annoying snoring face with them.

15. Don't bother with your hair and make up nearly as much as usual.

Which wasn't much to begin with I might add…

16. Clean the house like you have OCD.

17. Make a start on the office/junk room that you can barely open the door to.

18. Go out and buy some curtain railings in order to hang up those curtains that you bought over two weeks ago. 
It'll feel really nice to walk around your own lounge in your underwear again without scaring your neighbours children for life or have to live in fear of peeping toms watching your every move while hubby is away.

19. Analyse your baby name list and eliminate options by charting the best combinations to suit your last name via numerology testing.

Seriously, by now you're surely THAT bored.

20. Take another nap. You've earned it.

Goodbye Old Friend

Yesterday we sadly wished farewell to a beloved old friend, Miss Woofy.
(No, unfortunately, we didn't get to pick her name and ironically she never barked).

Smitten by the arrival of our little ball of fluff Oscar, I've rarely mentioned her on this blog but that's no reflection of our love for her, merely her absence from our home since I started this space.

See Woofy has a very special history and for that an extra treasured place in our hearts.
Having adopted her from a mate who was in more than a bad place at the time and completely unable to care for her, Woofy had experienced a life of neglect that no animal should be subjected to.

By the time she came into our care she was estimated to already be at least 10 years old.
We couldn't be sure as she had been accepted by her original owner as payment and her age was of little concern to him at the time - that was over 5 years ago.

She came to us as a timid, cowering soul who couldn't walk on a lead let alone be comfortable around strangers or a group of more than two people.
But after just a few short months under my hubby's loving wing she blossomed, coming out of her shell and learning commands such as speak, shake and sit.
Before long walkies and shmako's became her two favourite treats :)
Who said you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

Flourishing in the glow of finally being the centre of peoples love and attention, the affection we got back from her was immeasurable.
It always amazed us that despite the neglect and poor treatment she had received growing up, her nature was as gentle and placid as an angel.

Although accepting Osky into the fold took some getting used to…

Oscar of coarse was in love with her from the start.
It didn't take long for him to bully his way into her heart and she was too much of a softy to refuse him.

Before too long they were the best of friends and he quickly became the puppy she never had.

Soon they were a little too comfortable in each others presence perhaps… haha

It was only when we took in another wanderer, my good friend Cel who was going through a tough time of her own suffering a marriage break down and facing deportation back to her home in Brazil, that we had to give Woofy up to my Mother In-Law since my friend brought along more than just a little bit of baggage in her tow.
We suffered a cyclone of sorts over the next 3 and a half months in the form of a feisty 4 year old female Jack Russell called Becky.

Woofy's submissive nature didn't stand a chance against Becky's overly excitable energy and when two weeks later she wasn't eating, had become listless and was still being bullied to the point of attack we could take no more.
She deserved better than that and boy did she get it…
Roast chicken dinners, sirloin steaks, an unlimited supply of doggy treats and the undivided attention of a single lady's love. It's no wonder she didn't want to come home at the end of her 3 month stay!

Sad as we were to give her up it was a match made in heaven and the knowledge that she was living out her final years in luxury and total comfort made up for any guilt in having to let her go.

Dearest Woofy, you were the best little companion anyone could ever hope for.
Your resilience and refusal to give up on the human race regardless of how badly you'd been treated was a testament to your beautiful nature and soul.
No other dog has been or will ever come close to holding a shadow to you.
Know that while your beginning may have been rough, in the end, you were loved by all who knew you.
You will always be in our hearts.
 All our love xox

Surrender

The Enemy Within

She sits within a crystal heart, adorned by a crown of thorns.

She whispers things inside your head and plants them as your own.

She fills your heart with dread and doubt and when hope comes about,

She hunts the source, she finds the light and snuffs the candle out.

~K

We all struggle now and then to see ourselves as our own best friends as opposed to being our very worst enemies.

I can honestly say I am comfortable in my own company (a little too comfortable at times, you could say that I prefer it) and mostly I can accept that this is who I am and that my body is not me but is merely the vehicle that transports my unique little soul around this world enabling me to leave my own individual mark upon it.

But then something happens to set it all askew.

The inner crazy lady starts to come out of her usual hiding place.

For some, someone may make an idle comment towards them that hits a little too close to home.

A raw nerve is struck sparking that inner dialogue of self doubt and despair.

Or maybe life starts spinning a bit too fast to keep a grasp of, sending the old stress levels and emotions spiralling out of control.

In my case it's always the same… my body, that so called temple, inevitably lets me down right when I want it to rise to the occasion most.

It's no secret around here that I've been TTC for quite a while now, although I have been making a deliberate and conscious effort not to talk about it anymore, around here at least.

(I hope you've noticed, I've been aiming to exude a more positive vibe around here and less of the ' let's hop aboard the waa-waa train')

I've been taking more walks, capturing the beauty in the world around me, making future plans (that don't involve babies) and generally nurturing a happy mindset.

It was all going so well.

My cycle was steady, my tests and scans all came back clear and best of all I'm down to less than 10 follicles within both ovaries.

To all those not in the know, that translates to PCOS free! Hooooooraaaahh!!!!

We then uped the ante and changed physicians resulting in a prescription of Clomid which in theory would force ovulation and regulate my cycle back to 28 days. 

I felt the weight of these past 6 years lift off my shoulders at the imminence of a practical plan.

All we had to do was wait for my next cycle so we could finally begin my treatment.

Can you guess what happened next?

Yep, no period.

It's been 98 days since my last cycle and still nada… (but who's counting?)

This body, this vessel I'm supposed to care so much for has decided it doesn't want to join in on the party. Why co-operate when it can do whatever the hell it feels like?

At first my crazy lady reared her ugly head;
"Don't treat yourself poorly? Be your own best friend? HA! Pppft! How can you not see your stupid body as the enemy when it only serves to sabotage you at every given opportunity?"

I could have taken this direction and run with it but you know what?

I actually can't be arsed. I can't be bothered caring anymore.

Being sad and mopey and depressed and whatever else you want to add to the already salted wounds just takes too much effort.

Equally, hoping and wishing and generally trying to keep the flame alight is just as tiring if not more. 

I. Can't. Be. Bothered.

You hear that body? I give up.

You win. I surrender!

That's it, I've had enough. I'm tired of fighting for the promise of nothing.

I don't want to see anymore doctors. I'm sick of feeling like a specimen.

I've given more blood for samples than the average person donates to save lives and spent enough money on specialists and their tests to fund a round the world trip!

When I think of that waste alone I could weep.

I. Am. Done.

Why focus another minute on something that clearly doesn't want to be?

Now that the usual culprits have been eliminated what other reason can there be for my lack of fertility besides my body screaming loud and clear:
"I DON'T WANT TO!"

There is no enemy within. The only enemy has been me and for 6 years I've waged war against myself.

This is my time to live. This moment right here is the only thing that counts.

Tomorrow may rain, it may not. 

The world might end this year. It may not.

There's always a chance things could go either way however slim but even if someone could tell me the exact day I would become a mother would I just sit around waiting for it to happen?

And what if they could tell me it never would, would I curl up in a ball and cease to exist?

It's going to be hard to let go, I've spent so long "trying".
Although I am mega excited to be giving up those bloody temperature charts. Forget throwing them out, I feel like lighting a bonfire with them and burying them in the backyard!

I want to know how it feels to not care anymore about babies and creation or the science behind it all.

I want to travel and laugh and take too many pictures.

I want to rest and rejuvenate and meditate on creating inner peace.

I want to make love with my partner because the mood strikes and not because some test says my 'window of opportunity is open'.

Every window, bench, floor, table top and goddamn rooftop will be my open opportunity from now on - haha, avert your eyes!

And if life doesn't wish to be created within me? Then so be it.

I am content to create life in every step I dance to, in every mark I leave upon a persons heart and within every beat of my own in this world for as long as I'm blessed to live it.

The Dash

I read of a man who stood to speak 

at the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

From the beginning to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth

and spoke of the following date with tears,

But he said what mattered most of all

was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time

that she spent alive on earth

and now only those who loved her

know what that little line was worth.

For it matters not, how much we own,

the cars,

the house,

the cash,

what matters is how we live and love

and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard;

Are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left

that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down long enough

to consider what's true and real

And always try to understand

the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger

and show appreciation more

and love the people in our lives

like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect

and more often wear a smile,

remembering that this special dash

might only last a while.

So when your eulogy is being read

with your life's actions to rehash

Would you be proud of the things they say

and how you spent your dash?

~Linda Ellis

Just Breathe

Take a deep breath in. Hold.

Take another bit in. Hold.

Exhale 50%. Hold.

Breathe in. Hold.

Exhale a bit. Hold.

Now try to breathe deep. Hold.

That has been my pattern. That has been my breath.

An overwhelming combination of drowning and suffocation.

An overbearing heaviness that weighs down on my heart and chest.

A relentless cycle of sighing and then the inability to draw in anywhere near enough air, like a blanket of doom that has cloaked my heart and lungs for more than a week now.

48hrs before that fateful day it's as though I knew something was about to go terribly wrong.

I've struggled with the decision to write about this most personal of personal events.

Grief & Death. 

While they're an inevitable part of life, some would say the only thing that is guaranteed, the line is fine as to what constitutes honouring a memory here and whether sharing such a deeply private moment is even appropriate. Especially somewhere as faceless and often fickle as the online world.

Surely the loss of a loved one is more complex and worthy of a better sound board than a mere Facebook status?

Not knowing when or how to move on I simply shied away.

I wanted to acknowledge what happened but I didn't want to seem tasteless or tacky in my approach.

I would have much preferred to pretend it didn't happen, to go on as if everything was alright.

But it wasn't and I couldn't.

So I did the next best thing.

Retreat.

Until today.

I know for a fact that the only thing she would hate more than having to leave us is knowing we weren't coping or moving on.

So since this blog is a space of mine to record all things both frivolous and intense in my life, I feel it's only right to acknowledge my darkness first before I can feel comfortable again in my light.

On March 20th heaven took it's angel back as without a doubt this beautiful lady truly was a saint on Earth.

She was the light in so many peoples lives.

She had a warmth that could radiate through to the coldest of hearts.

She brought comfort and love to all who were blessed to be in her divine presence.

Words cannot come close to describing her generosity, her kindness and love. Even though it's an understatement, it is safe to say she was an exceptional woman.

Having lost my Grandfather and only living grandparent at age 12, I would never have known the love of a Grandmother had it not been for this angelic of souls.

I thought I had found my soul mate when I met my husband but little did I know I would gain a second family as well.

Most importantly I received something I had never before known -
the tender relationship between a young woman and her grandmother, for I always felt like she was mine and I hers.

She always had a smile and a twinkle in her eye for me followed by a kiss, a soft hug and unconditional love.

From the first day I met her all those 12 years ago I felt enveloped by the love in her heart.

I knew, even then, that in her eyes I was special the way only a grandmother could believe her granddaughter to be.

I was very lucky to have known her, to have been loved by her and to have the honour of holding these memories of her in my heart.

While I couldn't be there in her final hours I can only hope to have brought her some comfort in her final days.

She always called me her angel but I know it is her who will forever more be my guardian angel.

Every day my breath gets a little less laboured.
Each day it feels slightly easier to breathe.

Just Breathe.

It's become my mantra.

Just Breathe… 

Speechless

Source: panoramio.com via Linda on Pinterest 

                                                            

                                                             Sometimes there is nothing you can say.

                                                           Sometimes all you can do is feel.

Suddenly I miss everyone.

The Birds

I feel like her questions should be directed at me.

Although yesterday I was giving a similarly hysterical performance.

Why are they doing this? Why!?!

Am I some kind of things-that-flap whisperer?

(haha, considering what I do for a living, maybe.)

Ok let me re phrase that; I don't like things with wings but for some unknown reason they flock to me like flies to honey. Or more fittingly, like moths to a flame.

It took all my courage to walk calmly and not cry hysterically while in the butterfly enclosure up in Queensland.

As others stood patiently, waiting for them to land on their outstretched hands, I hot footed my way through and still managed to have a swarm of them land all over me.

When birds swoop my car I close my eyes and swerve. 

If something flies at me it's at its own risk since you can be sure I'll either flail wildly or run from the room screaming.

Right, so it's established, I'm a weird freak.

Now here's the backstory.

It all started a few months ago when the feisty little pigeons in my area decided that dog food was rather nice to munch on.

Since Oscar neither invokes fear or attempts to even try to chase them away, the birds have no qualms about helping themselves to his meals.

My little man is a sharer.

Now here's where it kind of gets messy.

We all know Oscar is a spoilt little pooch.

A day left out in the backyard is like a year in the wilderness for him.

When left outside for prolonged periods he comes bolting inside at the end of the day dishevelled and distressed barking like a mad dog for a good five minutes.

You could imagine what he would be saying in puppy speak.

Because I work from home he is predominately inside with me most of the time and because he has a lot a bit of separation anxiety he's gotten very good at holding onto his business (which couldn't be good for him surely) but when nature eventually bashes on his door screaming he very calmly scratches at my salon door alerting me that he needs to go outside. An almost perfect system.

Occasionally I don't hear him and accidents can happen, so on warm enough days I usually just leave the door to the backyard slightly ajar for easy bathroom access and initially the worst thing about this would be allowing flies into the house.

Not anymore.

Remember the pigeons with an appetite for MyDog? (the food not my actual dog)

Yea, well it must be really tasty since they've decided it would be worth the risk to creep inside the back door for a sneaky snack search and subsequently get trapped.

It seems flying in through a crack in the door is easier than flying back out again.

No biggy. Although the first time this happened I nearly cried and proceeded to hold my bladder all day (to get to the toilet you have to go through the laundry) but when this kept happening, I soon worked out that I could open the side door to the laundry pop some food just outside of it and this would usually encourage the trapped rat with wings to follow its greedy stomach to freedom.

Then there was that bird. The partridge in my Christmas tree.

I don't know what the hell possessed that one to come inside but I figured the allure of a natural bushy tree inside the shelter of a home was too good an offer to pass up.

Hence no real tree will ever feature in my house again.

I thought that would be the end of it.

You guessed it - I was wrong.

I don't know what I've done to deserve it but already in the space of a week I've been scared half out of my wits.

Firstly on Monday night by this:

No, it's not a bird. That, my friends, is a moth.

If you think I dislike butterflies, how do you reckon I feel about these ugly mo fo's…

To put it in perspective it was roughly the size of Oscars head.

Ok, so maybe it was more like the size of my palm… but still, you have to agree, that's one big assed moth!

I couldn't sleep for fear I would wake up with it down my throat a la Silence of the Lambs.

I knew it had flown into the bathroom but couldn't even muster the courage to get up and close the door on it.

I begged hubby to get up and kill it or at least shut the bathroom door before wedging a towel under it (so it wouldn't crawl out from under there) but he quickly dismissed my ridiculousness then merely rolled over and went back to sleep.

Thankfully it was dead in the morning.

(which is the only reason I could get close enough to take a photo of it for you.)

And finally I bring you to yesterdays fiasco.

So I'm getting ready for work, minding my own business when I hear a furious flapping coming from what I assume is the laundry.

No problem, I figure.

I'm seasoned now, surely I can deal with this in a breeze.

I simply closed the laundry door leading into the house and opened the one from the sideway.

Curiously I can't see the bird anywhere in the usual places.

'Hmmm, maybe it's hiding in the toilet', I think to myself.

Back to my routine and within minutes more furious flapping.

'Stupid bird' I muse, 'Just fly out the freeken side door, you idiot'

I finish applying my make up and setting up my room for the day, sit down to wait for my first client while trawling through the web and simply expect the bird to be gone by lunch time.

A half hour ticks by and I havn't heard the bird.

Hopeful and with bated breath, I walk to the laundry door and open it just a peep, just enough to peek around the room.

Ok so nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief.

As I turn to walk away, there, perched on my kitchen sink, is the one and the same goddamn pigeon!

For a second I stand frozen, caught in the dead eye stare of this brazen bird before suddenly it decides to take me on and in a flash we are a flurry of frantic flapping and blood curdling screams.

You'll be relieved to know I managed to make it out of there alive before slamming the door to my lounge, (yes I live in a fun house of a thousand doors), shutting it off from the rest of my house.

Just then my first client turns up to find me weeping into the phone. Hubby once again had to save the day though I've since discovered he's not a big fan of birds or bugs either, so is more a hindrance than a help.

His solution? To rip open the fly screen on the kitchen window in order to unhook the latch that opens it to allow it a way out...

yea, now I have a torn up fly screen in my kitchen window and more bird poop than you can poke a stick at.

I know, it's definitely time for a doggy door and you best believe it will be a magnetic one or I fear it'll be stray cats next.

I'm like that song about the woman that swallowed the fly then swallowed the bird to catch the fly then swallowed the cat to catch the bird to catch the fly etc, etc…

Oh why me dear lord? Why me?

See Ya Later Aligator

Not even in a while crocodile!

What a shit week - Can't wait to see the back of ya!